[images & words is the comic book pick-of-the-week at OL. equal parts review and diatribe, the post highlights the most memorable/infuriating/entertaining book released that wednesday]

Spoilers Ahead. Forreal.

Images & Words is once again taking a stroll through the streets of Shotgun City. It’s a futuristic slum, a place where even impressive technological advances cannot push against the tide of mediocrity known as the human condition. A diseased corpse wrapped in LED lights. It is a sociological ecotone, a convergence of possibility and failure that is bound to bewilder any visitor.

And it couldn’t be any more beautiful.

This is might be why I love Choker so much. It seems to be that the stories I become most invested incorporate the setting as an integral component of the narrative structure, as opposed to arbitrarily settling for any location. Sometimes the setting is so important that it becomes the crux of the story, such as with the island in LOST or the eponymous ship of Battlestar Galactica. Other times, settings make subtle suggestions that readers pick up on without even knowing it; the barren dunes of Tattooine reflect Luke Skywalker’s inexperience, whereas Death Star 2 represents the chipping away at Darth Vader’s once impenetrable heart of darkness.

So as I walk through Shotgun City, my visitor’s map is pissed on from a fourth-story fire escape, I just laugh. “Wow, that old lady’s got great aim!” And then I notice that her impeccable shot can be chalked up to night vision goggles and a laser-guided rocket-catheter. What a fucking world this is!

To be fair, maybe it’s inappropriate of me to pass off my hallucinations, my romps through fictional elseworlds, as a comic book review. But once you’ve consumed enough caffeine to reach Omega Level, reality and fiction become interchangeable terms, travel guides and reviews become synonymous, and definitive concepts are forfeited in favor of the indefinite but undeniable. And so, I pour more Rockstar Recovery into my system, gaze up at toppling skyscrapers of Shotgun City, and continue my trek.

Making my way through the dense concrete jungle, I learn all sorts of tidbits about its inhabitants. For instance, it turns out that some employees of the Shotgun City Police Department are eligible for Man Plus, a procedure that endows participants with superhuman strength. That is, of course, when it goes according to plan.

Unfortunately, Detective Johnny Jackson’s operation did not go quite so smoothly. As he was informed after awaking from surgery,

Those impervious to the enhancement properties have instead cultivated some very undesirable results. Manifestations of pre-existing conditions I’ve seen before, though not to this extent…But then I’ve never before encountered a genuine case of alien hand syndrome, let alone a transmutation of it.

Ah, so I see…that’s why Jackson’s left hand occasionally tries to shoot him in his sleep or choke him to death. It’s all making sense!

My daytrip also finds me overhearing explanations for the misandry of Flynn Walker, Jackson’s surly partner. Jackson’s associate Royce Davies provides some gory details;

I mean, you heard about her husband, right? Catching him in bed with her sister and best pal…? There’s even rumors that her mother was in on it. Pretty fucked up, huh?

With that being said, Walker’s rage comes in handy from time to time. Combined with her Man Plus, this unadulterated aggression helps her fend off a bunch of Marilyn Manson-looking teenage attackers…who can fly. I see her take out these gothic avengers, these outsiders who declare that “It’s all different now: the bullied have become the bullies. And we’re really, really in the mood to hurt people.”

Right before I board my bus outta Shotgun City, I see a fucking freakazoid tearing people limb from limb at the police department. Hell, even Walker and her aforementioned abilities can’t lay the fucker out. I suppose Johnny Jackson might have to step up to plate, so hopefully I can see him do something wonderful during my next visit.

Choker #3 is entitled Down These Mean Streets a Bastard Must Go. I agree. If you like comic books and have yet to visit Shotgun City, consider yourself at a disadvantage. Go buy this goddamn comic.

Bullfighting is the only art in which the artist is in danger of death and in which the degree of brilliance in the performance is left to the fighter’s honor. [Hemingway//Death in the Afternoon]

Holy fucking shit. Apparently animals don’t like being forced to engage in a combat that usually ends in slow, torturous death. The above picture is from a recent bullfight in which the bull, well…he fucking gored the bullfighter. Dude isn’t dead, but he’s laid out in the hospital.

I’m not going to go into some weird hypocritical animal activist diatribe (I’m snacking on a bacon cheeseburger as we speak), but I will say this: try not to fuck with Mother Nature too much.

[primary source]

[secondary source]

[thanks to Tyler for the heads-up]

Hey, you there! Ssshh… Not so loud — you’ll get us caught. Want to know a secret? It’s quite devilish. And isn’t it always fun to know something that others don’t? Ok, here goes…

At the time of this writing, it’s only Thursday!

Yes, I have finally succumbed to the pressures of having a full-time job and a bunch of trifling part-time responsibilities. So while I normally enjoy ending my workweek by coming home and cracking open a couple of cold ones, my hand has been forced elsewhere. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not opposed to sipping on a delicious brew during the week, but there are certain reservations that I’ll have to work hard to shake off.

Keep Reading »

[images & words is the comic book pick-of-the-week at OL. equal parts review and diatribe, the post highlights the most memorable/infuriating/entertaining book released that wednesday]

Spoilers Ahead. Forreal.

Marvel Comics is ushering in a new era for its brand, a return to form dubbed The Heroic Age. Under this new banner, the Marvel universe is (hopefully) going to realign itself and enter a period in which a status quo can be relied upon. And this is a good thing, giving the reader a chance to breathe after seven years of turmoil that included team breakups, civil wars, and alien invasions.

As any avid comics enthusiast knows, every event is accompanied by a slew of one-shots and tie-ins. Often, these are transparent attempts to earn a couple extra bucks by inserting tenuous connections between the major happening and an otherwise unrelated title. I can’t help but shake my head in disgust, disapproving of the theft of nerd-dollars that could be best spent elsewhere.

But sometimes, when the planets line up just right, tie-ins can be really fucking rad. And it looks like Jupiter and Neptune are in sync, because The New Avengers Finale is the book of the week.

Bendis’ script takes the reader through the direct aftermath of Siege; Norman Osborn has been exposed, the remaining villains are on the run, and Earth’s mightiest heroes have finally reunited. The remaining superheroes have to figure out their place in this brave new world, now that the all the major threats have been averted and the Superhuman Registration Act is null and void.

This setup provides the opportunity for bridges to be built across the chasms created over the last few years. Needless to say, this comic argues on the behalf of forgiveness, second chances and teamwork as the champions of justice come together to take down The Hood, Madame Masque and her father Count Nefaria. This crisis, coming after the siege of Asgard, doesn’t seem especially critical but it serves as an excellent excuse to see the Avengers assembling for the first time in years.

Iron Man? Captain America? Thor? Friends again?! Fuck yes.

The New Avengers Finale, like many of Marvel’s notable works of late, is penciled by the always astounding Bryan Hitch. Receiving some assistance from Stuart Immonen, the artist depicts the Avengers with a detail and vibrancy of which few are capable. Hitch really goes balls-to-the-wall, giving the reader all sorts of wonderful eye-candy to slobber over. For me, the visual highlights include a two-page spread of the newest Avengers lineup as well as a full splash page of Wolverine getting read to lay down the law.

But what convinced me that this had to be OL’s top-choice of the week were the book’s last eighteen pages. Nine splashes, spread across two pages each, take us through various flashbacks of the Avengers during the recent strife. Every single one of these images is jaw-droppingly gorgeous, the stuff that nerds fantasize about when they’re not dreaming of babes. If you need more convincing, just check out the list of artists brought on board specifically for these flashbacks:

David Finch, Danny Miki, Frank D’Armata, Steve McNiven, Dexter Vines, Morry Hollowell, Olivier Coipel, John Dell, Mike Deodato Jr., Pimental, Dave Stewart, Leinil Yu, Mark Morales, Laura Martin, Bryan Hitch, Rain Beredo, Billy Tan, Matt Banning, Justin Ponsor

Holy shit.

These pages remind the reader that the comics medium is rooted in illustration. While great storytelling can compensate for lackluster art, the greatest works always have pages that please the eye. This comic book gives us nine examples of this simple fact.

I purchased The New Avengers Finale with low expectations, anticipating that it would do nothing more than help me put off work for another fifteen minutes. But what I would up with was a real treat, the perfect transition out of the Dark Reign and into the Heroic Age. After reading this book, I have no doubt that good things are on the way for Marvel readers.

Excelsior, motherfuckers!

It’s been nine years since Transatlantic’s first release and the track Stranger in Your Soul still gives me goosebumps. Maybe it’s nostaglia, the fact that progressive music helped me get out of high school without feeling like a total loser. Or maybe I’m a sucker for cheesy lyrics. In either case, I can’t help but smile when Neal Morse encourages me to “Stand up `cause this is your time.”

*sigh*

Real Ghostbusters. Hunting real ghosts. At the New York Public Library.

This, my friends, is true inspiration.

[source]

The year is 2010. Some of the best musicians we’ve got are kids with laptops who consume too many energy drinks. Welcome to the future — I hope you enjoy your stay.

Personally, I love mashups. I find the the concept of combining components of different songs to create a new cohesive whole both intriguing and inspired.

I’m intrigued by the notion that two pieces of music, completely unlike in terms of theme and style, can be rummaged for parts and brought together to make a third entity. How can this be? Could it be that what we perceive as differences are no more than manifestations of our own shortsightedness? Could we all be much more connected than we usually think? Could the universal appeal of art be the answer to bridging social gaps? I fucking hope so.

Keep Reading »

This one goes out to Tommy Rock. He’s a close friend of mine — over the years, I’ve had the pleasure of playing music, ranting about existence, and just chilling out with him. On Tuesday I was too sick to stay up and watch LOST with Caffeine Powered and the usual pack of goons. But when I woke up the next morning, I saw that the fridge contained a brown bag declaring “For Pepsibones. <3 Tommy Rock.”

In the bag — a couple of fat beers. I now know that there might be no better way to wake up than by realizing that a friend has dropped off a care-package of cold ones. So once again — thanks Tommy.

Keep Reading »

[images & words is the comic book pick-of-the-week at OL. equal parts review and diatribe, the post highlights the most memorable/infuriating/entertaining book released that wednesday]

Spoilers Ahead. Forreal.

Don’t listen to Caffeine Powered.

Well, actually, you should — he’s a smart guy and is generally on-the-ball with all of the latest news pertaining to comics, video juegos, movies, sports, and all that other shit I live my life by. As the firstborn in the family, he taught me that superheroes aren’t just creeps in spandex and that the entire …And Justice for All album is a goddamn anthem. And so, I tip my cap to him.

But on Tuesday, Caffeine Powered wrote some pretty hurtful things about time travel. I won’t quote him verbatim, but his general argument is that between comics, television, and movies, time-hoppin’ has become pretty played out. I won’t deny the fact that it’s become almost ubiquitous, an apparent necessity for any franchise with even the slightest of science fictional properties. And maybe I should be a bit more pessimistic, pissed off that one of my favorite plot devices has been misappropriated as a plaything for retard America.

But I’m still pretty stoked on time travel. And I guess that’s why Caffeine Powered and I are the dynamic duo of nerdcore brothers; between the two of us, we’re bound to be digging some shit that the mainstream doesn’t talk about at the dinner table.

So while big brother is approaching The Return of Bruce Wayne with cautious enthusiasm, I have a nerd-lust that defies physics. One issue in and I’m already a total believer in this miniseries. Yeah, Grant Morrison’s last attempt at a big event was a total mindfuck and he’s been known to get kooky from time to time. But he’s been kicking ass ever since that last debacle and I’ve been questioning reality on a daily basis.

So what do I make of a time-lost Batman blindly stumbling through the centuries? What if he’s not sure how he came to be in his current predicament? What if he has to fend off the enemies indigenous to each era? Well, I think it sounds like a damn fine comic book.

And, so far, it is.

The first issue of The Return of Bruce Wayne sees Gotham’s favorite son chilling in the prehistoric times of cavemen. These cave people are just like us — they divide themselves into rival tribes, fight one another for arbitrary reasons, and occasionally smoke cigarettes. Of course, Brucie (despite being too messed up in the brain-piece to even feign coherence) aligns himself with the sympathetic Deer People. They recognize him as one of the “shining ones” and believe a fallen rocket ship to be his; they treat him with reverence and wished their Old Man lived long enough to have a conversation with him. So when the villainous Blood Mob comes to fuck shit up the Batman has to come to the rescue.

He isn’t completely successful, but he manages to defeat their chief…while wearing the hide of a giant bat as a damn costume. It’s wonderful.

Throughout the entire ordeal, Bruce never really gets to speak (again, he’s still woozy from being shot through time). While I can see fans griping about this, I like where Morrison is headed; rather than relying on the exposition of a super-detective, the reader gets to experience the comic from the perspective of the time’s natural inhabitants. So in this issue, Bruce Wayne’s journey is described through primitive speculation. For instance, notice how the leader of the Blood Mob announces his arrival;

THE CHIEF WHO SCARES DEATH HAS RETURNED!

CONQUERING CHIEF SAVAGE BRINGS GIFTS FROM THE FORBIDDEN LAND!

A SKY-CART OF THE BRIGHT ONES!

FOUR SCALPS OF DEER WARRIORS!

AND A MAN-GOD WHO CAME FROM ABOVE TO CHALLENGE ME!

Could this come off as hokey? Sure. But Morrison’s script is backed up by the more than legit art of Chris Sprouse and Karl Story. This speech is accompanied by a two-page spread of Blood Mob revelry. We get to see skulls impaled on spikes, fires being danced around, and a close-up of a savage snacking on a huge hunk of…heart? brain? I’m not sure, but it’s something fleshy and gross.

Seriously, this art is beautiful and I think that a great deal of credit should be awarded to Karl Story’s colors. During the introduction to the Deer People, the skyline is painted with shades of light red and pink, offering a sense of liveliness and fading hope. But as the interlopers make their way into camp, Story shifts into dark grey, dark blue, and good `ole black; only fire brightens up these panels and it adds dramatic tension. By filling in Sprouse’s pencils, Karl Story deftly sets the unspoken tone for The Return of Bruce Wayne.

By the issue’s end, Batman has fended off the bad guys, saved a young member of the Deer People and unknowingly shifted forwards in time. Right after Bruce hops ahead on the timeline, Superman, Green Lantern and Booster Gold pop into the prehistoric era. They’re dismayed to realize that he is no longer there. In fact, their disappointment takes a turn for the ominous as they discuss the necessity of finding their comrade;

Green Lantern: Batman has no memory of who he is. He has no idea what’s happening to him.

Booster Gold: What chance does he have? Even he can’t make it.

Superman: You are joking, right? He can survive anywhere. Anytime. Surviving is what he does. But if he survives this, if he does the impossible again…If Batman makes it back to the 21^st century on his own…everyone dies.

Oh shit! Hey Booster Gold, why don’t you shut the fuck up?!?! Fucking dumb-dumb.

The Return of Bruce Wayne is over-the-top, filled with shit I’m not sure I quite grasp yet, and serves as the beginning to the unfortunate end of Dick Grayson’s reign as Batman. With that being said, the book still works. And it works well. If you give me time-travel, caveman beatdowns, and the goddamn Batman I’m going to enjoy it.

Even in a galaxy far, far away Deadhead is being read. I’ve mentioned the book before and still strongly encourage you to check it out. It’s goofy, quirky, and FREE! So don’t be a butthead, go help out an independent creator by generating some traffic!